


Long Live The Queen

by Doveheart



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Garlean!Yda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5967769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doveheart/pseuds/Doveheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Before she committed treason, the girl you know as Yda was Yda yae Regulus.”<br/>Papalymo feels like the world is suddenly falling apart around from him. “Wha-what did you call her?”<br/>“Yae Regulus. Heir to the Garlean Throne. And we mean to bring her back home — dead or alive.”</p>
<p>Garlean AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i.

Don't listen to your friends  
See the despair behind their eyes  
Don't listen to your friends  
They only care once in a while

\- The Draw by Bastille

**i.**

The hardest part isn't losing the other Archons, losing the Scions, losing Papalymo _(-but oh that hurts, it hurts so so so much that her heart stops and her breathing catches in her throat)_. It isn't even the scattered bodies or the bloodstains. No, the hardest part is that it was all Yda's fault. That feeling alone is enough to devastate her.

When Yda first gets back to the Waking Sands, she knows something is wrong. It is too quiet; too still. She knew she shouldn't have left to alone. She never leaves Papalymo alone _(-and he made sure never to leave her either because maybe he was scared of losing her)_. She moves carefully, a fear settling into the pit of her stomach. She feels sick but the coolness of the basement has kept the smell down and so she does not dry-heave. There are bodies all around the hall on the way to the Solar and the door is thrown open, bent on its hinges. There is a lingering scent of gunpowder and Ceruleum _(-Yda knows the smell well and she hates it it takes her back to a time and place she wants so badly to forget)_.

She picks her way through the mess, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. She knows these bodies, each one a friend but she is looking for more specific bodies. She isn't sure she wants to know the answers or the reasons, not until she knows if Papalymo is among the dead. She turns over several lalafell bodies, each time her heart stopping before she tries to wipe her bloody hands on her shorts. She is shaking but finally sets her sights on the dark Solar. She stops to roll over another Lalafell and then check the pulse of a sylph. The feel of tears sting her eyes but she will not, cannot, break yet. There is nothing and so she finally sets her eyes to the Staff hanging carefully behind the desk. She wants to make sure it is okay because it is important but what she sees instead makes her legs give out.

She is rooted in place then. Scrawled over the last reminder of their Teacher, there is writing in blood. A name. Yda's name.

Her heart nearly stops and her knees shake. She falls to the ground and that's when Y'shtola and the Warrior of Light run in. At first they try to rush to Yda, to make sure she's unhurt but then they see the writing. Yda can barely hear them calling to her. They're voices are faint and far away despite being right next to her. Her ears ring loudly and she can't look away from the bloody mess on the wall. There is a silence, tense as they take in the words smeared in blood. Y'shtola reads it aloud quietly, trying to understand exactly what it means. It's Yda's name but it's also Garlean. It makes Y'shtola's blood run cold and she forgets the Warrior of Light is next to her.

“Yda...” Y'shtola whispers, her voice is hoarse but the ringing in Yda's ears is clearing, “Is...that true...?”

Yda can't answer, she just stands. Her legs shake but she doesn't fall. Her shoulders are slumped and she is not proud. She is angry and broken. She tugs off her headpiece and drops it. The mask and the aether meter fall to the ground heavily, the noise echoing around the room so loudly that it makes Y'shtola jump. She turns to look at the only companions that are left with her face bare. There is only one person still alive _(-he has to be alive he has to she will not accept the idea he is not)_ who had seen her face like this. This wasn't the way they were supposed to find out. Y'shtola has to look away when she sees the Garlean third eye.

“Why...didn't you tell us?” And she doesn't know who to trust or what to do. She is upset and hurt. She looks to the Aether goggles now thrown to the ground and picks them up. It is covered in dents and cracks and Y'shtola brushes them off. Her throat is dry. Everything she knew is wrong.

Yda chews at her lip, “It never mattered,” then she added to try and defend herself, “Papalymo knew.” And Louisoix, of course, but bringing him up now would just be salt in the wound. She looks to the dedication on the wall, now stained with blood and she wants to be sick. How could they do this?

“The Garleans attacked us to get to you, Yda.”

And that realization allows despair to settle into the pit of Yda's stomach. This was never supposed to happen. They were never supposed to find her.

**-**

When Yda was very young, her father told her she would never be Emperor if she kept getting into fights. But that didn't stop her from picking scuffles with the boys at school. She always won, smiling with bloodstained teeth from a split lip and a black eye. Her best dresses were tore and dirty. Yda had a nasty streak and others would even take bets for her. Her father was always the one who get the call.

'She's got a spark, that one, but you better keep an eye on her, lest she look at overthrowing you' they would tell him but she had one terrible right hook _(-but oh didn't they know it was the wife, not the daughter, that he should keep an eye on?)_. Yda would come home with scrapped knees and bloody knuckles. Her father would scold her, threaten her with her with a fist, but he would never hit her because he knew better. Yda would fight back and Yda would win. In the end, Yda's father was scared of her — of the fire that brewed in her gut and the strength behind her punches. Yda didn't like the Empire, even then and that alone was enough to scare anyone.

Once her father left, though, her mother slipped her extra helping of supper. Her mother didn't like to fight with her husband and usually kept quiet, but when their daughter came into the picture, it drew a wedge between them. Her husband spoiled the sons, training them to be powerful warriors or intelligent scientists. Her mother, though, kept a close eye on Yda and her training. She was hard on her, constantly pushing and Yda resented it _(—still resents it)_.

“Don't let that fire go out because soon you will be as dangerous as Ceruleum,” her mother would tell her but Yda didn't want to be dangerous. Yda wanted to be free. Her mother watched Yda grow up and grow away. Yda was never stupid and Yda wanted so much more. She saw her daughter's growing distaste in their homeland and she watched it start to seethe inside of her. She enlisted Yda into the military when she came of age, hoping it would allow her to sate her appetite for adventure and teach her that the Empire is home.

Right before Yda was about to leave to join the Military, her eldest brother cornered her. Her older brother had noticed the hate starting to sprout in her and planned on showing her what they did to people who didn't trust their home. Yda was always their mother's favorite and maybe he was jealous but he wanted to earn approval by taking down the weaker link. But that wasn't Yda. That was never Yda. But, even still, her brother met her eyes and drew is gunblade. Yda flashed him a smirk and before he could even make the first move, she had done a cartwheel behind him. Her legs kicked his own from under him. A shot ran out, the bullet scrapped her face but he fell. He jerked the blade up into her side. It cut into her and she kicked it from his hand. They both heard the sound of his fingers breaking. They stared at each other for a while, Yda holding her bloody side and her bother unable to feel his fingers.

“You will never be emperor,” he snarled at her.

Yda laughed, “I don't want to be emperor, I want to be  _queen_.”

It was a joke but she spit blood at him, limping back to her room. Her mother found her later and helped her tend to the wound. She didn't ask but Yda knew she already knew. It was silent as the antiseptic stung. The bandages were tight but once the wound was patched up, her mother put brushed Yda's hair from her face. Yda would be leaving tomorrow.

“I don't want to be anything you or dad want me to be. I want to be myself,” Yda finally told her mother. She was older, wiser. Yda was excited, patriotic even, to see a side of the Empire she never had before but she still felt her mother deserved an answer _(-it wouldn't ease the feeling in the pit of her stomach it wouldn't stop the hate from building up in the back of her throat no no no it would actually spur it)_.

“You wouldn't be Yda if you followed blindly,” her mother said, picking up the first aid kit. It was true. And so Yda left her mother behind; she no longer had any say in what her daughter did.

 


	2. ii.

I can feel the draw  
I can feel it pulling me back

\- The Draw by Bastille

**ii.**

Papalymo is helping Urianger with translating some scrolls when the Garleans attack. It had been a silent afternoon until the basement door bangs open and there is yelling. Papalymo draws his staff the first moment he hears a gunshot and slides out of his seat. He meets Urianger's eyes and they both nod silently. Papalymo is the first of the Archons to run into the hallway and he is the first of the Archons to fall. An embarrassment really but he suddenly realizes that maybe he doesn't know how to fight alone _(-the space next to him is too empty and who is keeping them at a distance they close in too fast)_. He tries to fight back, fire blazing. He is able to keep most of them back by freezing them to the ground as the rest of the Scions attack but his friends and allies fall one by one.

_(-“Damn it, Yda, you are a grown woman! You can go to the Talks by yourself. I have too much work here.”_

“ _Only if you get me dinner when we get back!”)_

And it looks like he wouldn't be getting Yda that Aldgoat steak after all. Adrenaline pounds in his veins and he won't give up without a fight. He tries to heal those falling at his feet but he is not fast enough. He casts out a fire ball and it hits it mark, taking down one Imperial as more rush in. Papalymo's ears ring from the gunshots and sweat drips down his brow. He glances back at Urianger who is busy trying to heal the injured. Papalymo takes a chance and runs towards the Solar. He leaps over a body but he catches his food. He scrapes his nails against the stone and rips the knees of his pants as he pulls himself back up. There is yelling, screaming and the smell of blood strings his nose but he keeps running. He has to protect Minfilia. A bullet grazes his arm and he curses in pain but doesn't turn around. Another his his thigh and he places a hand to it to ease the pain with a green glow of magic but he can't let it stop him. His steps falter but he keeps moving. He grips his staff so tightly, his knuckles turn white. The Solar is in sight; the doors still latched. He lets himself breathe a sigh of relief and he lets himself feel the pain setting in. His leg quivers, the bullet lodged in it burning. He can feel the warm, sticky blood staining his clothes. He presses his forehead to the door for just a moment to rest, his nails clawing at the door. Minfilia has to stay safe. She has to.

“What about this one?” The voice is right behind him and Papalymo feels the blade at his neck. He freezes, doesn't breathe and doesn't move.

A female voice this time, obscured by a heavy helmet, “We need him.”

Papalymo's fingers twitch, he glances down, past his own blood dotting the floor and at the foot of the solder behind him. He casts a fireball at the feet of his attacker. The Imperial cries out, tumbling back and Papalymo spins. There is fight left in him yet. A quick healing spell gives him the boost he needs to push on and he aim another spell, this time at the ceiling light fixture. The light explodes, showering sparks down around all of them. He looks down to shield his eyes from the fire and meets the gaze of the Tribunal in White. Livia. Papalymo knows then that this is much worse than he thought.

This isn't about Minfilia, the Scions or even the Warrior of Light. This is about Yda. And that makes Papalymo fight harder.

Livia doesn't even flinch at the explosion and just dashes forward. Papalymo tries to tumble out of the way and the blade on her arm gets lodged into the door to the Solar. He casts ice at her feet to slow her down as she struggled to remove herself. He backs up, charging another cast.

“Get him!” Livia screams, finally freeing herself, the door to the Solar groaning under her strength — the hinges buckling. Papalymo glances behind him, finding himself surrounded by Garlean soldiers. He lets loose another explosion; soldiers scattering away from the magic. The bodies are starting to pile up and he can see Urianger trying to make his way through the chaos towards him. Then, suddenly, Livia is on top of him, hauling him from the ground and shoving her arm to his neck. He can barely breath and there is pain everywhere. His vision blurs.

“I suggest you come peacefully, lest more die.”

Papalymo meets the eyes of Urianger and he lowers his tome. Papalymo nods as best he can and she drops him. He falls, unable to catch himself and lands face-first onto the stone floor. He pushes himself, coughing blood and shooting Livia a glare.

“What do you want with us?”

She doesn't answer him, instead she waves one of her men over, “Slap mama-restricting cuffs on him. Gather up anyone with that mark,” she points to Papalymo's neck and turns her attention to the Solar door, “Now let's see what's hiding back here...”

-

Livia paces the room — growing angry. Papalymo is in front of her, beaten and bloody. His face is stern despite the bruises. His hands are locked in shackles and his eyes cast downward. It has been hours and she had gotten no information from him. She is about ready to give up and see if she can get farther with one of the other prisoners. She thought the Lalafell would be the easiest to break, but it seems she was very wrong. She comes to a stop in front of him and smooths a hand over her face, tapping her gauntlets on the table between them. She is silent for a long time, just examining him. She takes in his split lip and black eye. His monocle is cracked and dirty, as is the rest of him. His leg and arm are bandaged, bullets thankfully removed. She leans in close, hand gripping just below the wound on his leg. He winces.

“I will ask you again. Where. Is. She.”

“I'm not her keeper,” Papalymo snarls. Livia hits him, again, with the back of her hand. His head snaps the side and he spits blood at her in response.

“We both know that's a lie,” she manages to calm her temper, at least for now and leans away from him. She inspects the tips of her fingers; the white steel is tinted pink with his blood. She feigns disinterest.

Papalymo narrows his eyes, fighting back the urge to spit at her again, “And if you know that, then why would you ever think I would help you?”

Livia reaches towards him, grabbing his face in her hand and turning his head side to side as if to examine him. A few scratches and that black eye will take weeks to heal. Her newest hit has earned her a bruise on his light skin. He growls and tries to pull away. She digs her nails into his face, holding him still.

“You don't know her as well as you like to believe.”

“What do you mean?” Papalymo gives up struggling for a moment and meets her eyes. He wishes he could read her better, but even Yda, with her covered eyes, at least had half a face to get a reading from. Livia's helmet gave him nothing to go on and he hated it.

“Before she committed _treason_ ,” she hisses the word with venom, “the girl you know as Yda was Yda yae Regulus.”

Papalymo feels like the world is suddenly falling apart around from him. His breath is knocked out of his lungs and he jerks forward. He flexes against his bindings and if he was capable, he would have fired a spell off a her right then and there but the spell fizzles out in his hands, instead burning just his palms. For a moment he just gapes at her but then jerks his face her hands and pulls his legs up to kick her back. Livia stumbles into the table but laughs, roughly grabbing his wounded leg and squeezing it.

Papalymo's vision blurred from the pain and he lurched forward but he did managed to finally gasp out, “Wha-what did you call her?”

“ _Yae_ Regulus. Heir to the Garlean Throne. And we mean to bring her back home — dead or alive.”

 


	3. iii.

 Are you drifting way beyond what's normal?  
'Cause 'round your mind rings the words that they would say?  
When you go home everything looks different,  
And you're scared of being left behind.

\- The Draw by Bastille

 **iii.**  


And there were things Yda knew — things Yda worshiped and she would save her friends even if it meant losing herself. Y'shtola won't look at her as they help lay their fallen comrades to rest. They confirm that Papalymo, Urianger, Minfilia and Tataru are not among the dead and Yda already knows where they are but she can't tell Y'shtola because this is not Y'shtola's fight. This is hers. So she packs her bags and she sets off. She says no goodbyes, gives no answers and asks for no help. She is gone before anyone wakes up. It is a long journey and a hard one, with Yda's inability to use any magic, including teleportation alone _(-one of the many reasons she was paired with Papalymo and she misses him she misses him so so bad)_.

But, she makes it to Mor Dhona and the lights of the Castrum in the distance. She stays the night at the tavern in Revenant's Toll, trying to ease her shaking with hot apple cider. She is scared and people ask her is she is okay. She nods, paying the bartender before retiring for the night. Her sleep is anything but restful and she dreams of her mother singing her lullabies. Her mother always said: 'you have to be ready to give your everything for what you believe in, but never ever think that means you have to die, because, after all, if you die, who will continue your legacy?'

-

Ysvelta yae Regulus hates Eorzea. Of course, that doesn't stop her. Ysvelta has duties and wants and desires. She wants to see Garlemald prosper in a way it hasn't for decades. That has always been her dream but sometimes things get in the way. Annoying, little things — things like love for a daughter who she tries so very hard to hate but can't. And so instead, Ysvelta hates Eorzea and the people who took her daughter away.

She was born a lower ranking citizen of the Empire but she was beautiful and intelligent. From a young age, Ysvelta had a naturally affinity with aether and her desire to study and learn cemented her fate. Most of her younger years were spent as little more than a test subject. With her fellow peers, she would become a Magitec Mage. The magic was not hers nor would ever be, but she was a rare honor; a Garlean who could, in a sense, use magic. She still remembers when she was first fitted with her Magitec Gauntlet. She was sixteen and it was her coming of age gift.

The gauntlet was heavy and it took two women to help fit it around her arm. Her heart fluttered — this is what she had been trained for. Then it clamped down, like the jaws of a great beast. The pain was unimaginable; metal becoming part of her, merging with her own aether. She cried out and struggled but a senior magitek scientist held her down. She couldn't move and that's when they injected the Ceruleum into the device's fuel cells. It burned and she grit her teeth until she tasted blood.

Her blood tasted like Ceruleum.

They wouldn't let her remove the gauntlet for a year and a half. She had to get used to the pain and the weight. It was too large for her at first so that she could grow into it. Sometimes the pain got too much and she tried to force it off but it just seemed to cling to her harder, its steel digging into her deeper. Yet, it did its job. Ysvelta could use magic. It was unstable at first as she learned to channel her aether into the gantlet. Fire and thunder spells would go astray and she would get yelled at. _'Concentrate, girl!'_ But soon she would become a strong Magitec Mage. No very many could survive the ordeal and many of her friends died but she joined the ranks of the Garlean Empire as a sign that someday, maybe all Garleans could use magic. She caught the eyes of many when she graduated and earned her first Magitec Staff. One of those she caught the eyes of was an older man, but her beauty drew him in.

When Ysvelta turned eighteen, she was married into royalty. The man who married her wasn't that far up the line of succession but it gave her the first taste of power. She continued to raise up the ranks, becoming a well-known part of the Garlean hierarchy. She worked closely on nearly all large magitek projects and soon, she was also the mother to five children. Four sons, and the middle child, a beautiful, little girl. The girl had the most piercing blue eyes Ysvelta had ever seen. She named her Yda. They wanted Yda to train like her mother, but she showed no ability to connect with her own aether. At first Ysvelta was upset but she steadied herself instead to set her daughter down a different path. Maybe it was a blessing that her daughter wouldn't have to go through what she did.

Everything changed when Yda left — but Ysvelta would not see her daughter's potential lay stagnant so she had Yda enlisted in the Garlean Military. She left home as soon as she came of age and Ysvelta was happy.

When the Empire first starting talking about invasion, Ysvelta was on board. She would serve the Empire and if they needed more land, so be it. She heard Yda was part of the first step to take Ala Mhigo and she was proud. Ysvelta was asked to help in the Meteor Project and while she had her hands full with magitek and allagan technology, a rumor erupted that Yda had committed treason. Her husband died under strange circumstances soon after the rumor was confirmed and Ysvelta herself rose up in the line of succession. Ysvelta decided then that she hated Ala Mhigo, and Eorzea with it. It took her only daughter.

It was years later as Ysvelta spent more and more time on the Meteor Project when she finally realized just what would happen if it were to succeed. She brought her findings to the Throne. Too many people would be lost if they did this — what would be the point if there was no people to bring into their Empire? The land would be completely changed. Would it even be worth it? The Emperor brushed aside all the information she brought to him. Ysvelta withdrew from the Project the next day and a bitterness settled in her chest. She watched the project fail without her and she watched the Emperor die. And then, she leaned back and watched the civil war break out.

It didn't take long after that for everything to fall apart and fall into place. A resentment for the Emperor festered inside of her. She would make a better leader; she could lead the Garlean Empire to even more greatness. When Civil War finally broke out after the death of the Emperor, she made her move. The state of the Empire wasn't exactly stable and Ysvelta focused on rebuilding. She got many followers this way — paying more attention to the Garlean people and their own plights than the need to invade. Her plan was set into motion when she her Eorzean spies finally brought her back news of her daughter. An Archon. Her heart fluttered, she expected no less of her daughter. She couldn't deny she was proud even as she tried to hold a grudge for her the treason.

She made a movement for the Throne. Quick, surgical, precise. It was like chopping the head off a snake. She had been setting up for this moment for years and the chaos of the Civil War made it even easier. Ysvelta became Emperor. She worked on funneling resources into Gaius's project; she didn't care what he did with the land of Eorzea, but she did want one thing from him. She wanted her daughter back.

She would make the Empire great, whatever it took.

-

Papalymo remembers Minfilia being brought back to the cell. She is beaten as badly as him, cheeks bruises and eyes swollen from crying. They take Urianger next. Tataru is shaking but none of them will let them touch her. Papalymo's wrists ache from his shackles and he cannot expel any of his excess aether. He feels himself getting sick. The shackles have at least been parted, leaving just two thick and heavy bracers on his arms. They dig into his skin. They smell like Ceruleum.

Minfila looks at him, shaky, “Yda never said she was royalty. I mean I knew...I saw...but...”

“She never needed too,” Papalymo's voice quivers, trying to justify it but really, they all know she should have.

It isn't long before they bring Urianger back. One of the guard spits at them. Papalymo finds himself praying to whoever will listen for guidance, for strength. He grits his teeth and the sickness rocks his body again. He has to close his eyes as his vision blurs.

-

Yda grabs her turban in her hands and her heart is pounding as she approach the guards. They bar her way, of course, but do not attack. Her Third Eye is bare to the world and they can't take their eyes off it, except to glance at the tattoos on her neck.

“I am Yda yae Regulus. Let me pass,” there is a quake in her voice and she nearly chokes on her own name.

One guard presses his hand to his linkshell. There is a pause as he tells his commanding officer. The gates creak open soon after.

“We will be escorting you,” they no longer look at her face. She is above them.

Yda does not respond but walks ahead of them stiffly. They scramble after her. She keeps her hands on her weapons, trying to hold herself as high as her title. It is awkward and it is not her. Her knees shake and her throat is dry. This isn't her and she feels like she has to keep telling herself that or else she will forget. She doesn't want to lose herself. She is so much more than just her Third Eye. She cannot love herself and she cannot accept herself. She cannot trust herself.

She will not be what her mother wants her to be; she will not be Garlean.

When they arrive into the large meeting room, Gaius has his back to them. Livia is adjusting the straps on her gauntles and Nero is reclined in a chair looking disinterested. Yda knows who they are.

“You didn't kill her? Capture her?” Livia snarls.

“What a good way to treat the daughter of the Emperor,” Nero sighs, looking up at Yda. He is the only one without his helmet on and it is sitting the large table in front of them. Gaius turns around to take Yda in.

“A welp like this traitor doesn't deserve all this effort,” he crosses his arms. Livia takes a step forward.

“We should just kill her then.”

Yda speaks then, “My mother wouldn't want me dead,” it is a challenge and she met Gaius's gaze, “I want to see her.”

He grinds his teeth, “ _Your mother_ ,” he spits the words, “Is back in Garlemald.”

“Tell her she better come here then.”

Livia and takes a step forward, “You wench! You will not talk to him like that!”

Yda bends her knees; Yda is ready to strike, “ _Listen._ You came here and killed my friends. You kidnapped _Papalymo_ and I swear to the Twelve if he is hurt, I can just go right ahead and kill _myself_. And then you will have to answer to your oh so great Emperor and tell them at her only daughter is _dead_.”

There is a silence as the words sink in. Yda was shaking. Then, finally, Gaius raises his hand.

“Contact the Throne. Tell her...we have ran into a problem,” he growls and then looks up at Yda, “Any other...requests, _your highness_?”

Yda feels like he legs might give out, “Let me see him. Let me see Papalymo and Minfilia and Urianger and Tataru. Let me know they're alright,” and her voice is shaking and desperate and she hates herself and hates the Empire. She is begging, eyes tired and voice horse.

Livia steps forward to show her to the cells. It is dark and the other woman motions to a cell in the back. Yda is running then and she falls to her knees. She can barely see the dirty bodies huddled in the corner.

“Papalymo,” she calls and she could cry.

“Yda?” He stumbles to the cell door first, his hands reaching through the bars and she grabs his hand. She squeezes it hard and presses it to her face. Her shoulders shake and she breaks. Tears fall from her eyes and she just clings to his hand. He brings the other to her shoulder and glances back at the others.

“I'll get you out,” she promises between sobs, “I'll make everything right.”

Papalymo is chanting her name, shaking and weak and he missed her so much his eyes sting. It is Minfilia who comes up them next and her voice is low and meek,

“Yda, just what are you planning? How did you get in here?”

Livia laughs, interrupting anything Yda could have said in her defense, “No. She walked in. The first thing I have seen her do fitting of her royalty.”

 


End file.
